Life Starts Now
by LittleLamperouge
Summary: Sequel to Minutes To Midnight. The magicians called it levitation, the books called it flying, but only foolish men and angels were meant for the skies. He found the description rather fitting. Rating may or not change in the upcoming chapters...R&R?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I'm only gonna do this once. So trust me when I say, _you'd KNOW _if I owned the BMT series/universe (TAM is nonexistant here, I'll just mention). I own only my OCs. And the plotline. **

**Enjoy ^_^! **

**~L2~**

* * *

_He never found out what that boy's name was, but maybe it was better off that way. The horror, the disgust, the fear he felt – it was cold, thick and slimy like the congealed animal fat he scraped off the dirty dishes. To add but another layer on top of it – a name, an identity linked to a story he never deemed it worth his time to learn...why? What would such a deed accomplish, other than making his own life even less worth living? _

_Takan hunched his shoulders forwards and burrowed his toes further into the sand. The scratching of the textured rag against the base of a dirty pot increased in tempo, the noise was loud in the quiet and solitude of the immediate area. His hands were sore, but he didn't dare stop as he leaned forwards and dunked the pot into the cool water, thankful to the darkness of this summer night for hiding his shaking hands. _

_What-What had he done? Oh- oh hell, h-he was going to _die_. His Master was going to _kill_ him – and probably _her too_... _

_Heat rushed to his face as his vision blurred and he clamped the hand holding the sodden cloth to his mouth. Takan sniffed loudly, salty tears carving pathways down his golden cheeks._

_No, no, it couldn't end _now_ – he'd-they'd only been here a few weeks, months? He had to make this work somehow, for the both of them, for as long as possible. Just until his Master was defeated, or until they found their little brother – yes, all would be well then._

_And that was why he'd had to kill him - that stranger, Ichani Kariko's gift to the Master. _

_The newcomer had been young (perhaps the same age as his brother), so naive and oblivious of the way things worked out here in the wastelands. _Everybody_ in the camp had a purpose, a reason to justify their survival; important enough for their Master to spare them when choosing who to sacrifice for the sake of victory over his adversaries. _

_Takan's own personal talent took the form of his exceptional cooking skills; and in fact, he had only gotten this job because the previous cook had tried to flee the camp late one evening after everyone had gone to sleep. Unfortunately, their Master had created an invisible perimeter around the camp, designed to inform him immediately should anyone inside try to get out. Or if anyone _outside_ tried to get _in_. He himself had known that the perimeter was there because he'd seen the Master setting it up; had known his predecessor would not survive the escape attempt._

_But Takan had said nothing. _

_Because he needed that job._

_He wished he could say he regretted it – had he been back in Arvice, he probably would have cried, lost countless nights of sleep over what he'd done; so the fact that he'd felt nothing for that boy at all shocked and frightened him to the core._

_But when he saw his sister's face, the faint tendrils of warmth in that glass smile whenever they locked eyes across the camp; he knew she needed him here, alive, and he needed her too. His silence that night had given them both six months of extra time – though the loss of his cooking mentor had been a heavy price, it was one he had paid willingly. _

_But then this new slave arrived, apprentice to Master Kariko's head cook, and Takan had known instinctively that there was not enough room in this camp for the both of them._

_He had been merciful, made the death quick – but the execution had not gone according to plan. The other slave had put up more resistance than Takan had expected, in fact – he remembered that he was _losing_ the fight, recalled the unpleasant slippery feel of clammy fingers wrapped around his neck, pinning him to the sand, when something had happened. _

_Something deep inside his own mind had shifted and buckled, a pulse of energy (magic?) sent from his body _into_ that of his enemy. And all at once the murderous intent, betrayal and fury - the darkest recesses of the human soul suddenly seemed to vanish from his oppressor's face. The hands that had nearly choked the life out of him hung useless and limp by his sides as he'd sat up, still straddling the cook's hips. The new slave had looked _lost_, dazed. Defenceless. And it was then that Takan had lunged for the discarded blade just beyond his reach and sliced through the air..._

_The cook closed his eyes and shuddered._

_The body was buried a short distance away under a makeshift sand dune. But regardless of whether or not his Master ever found the body, sooner or later Ichani Kariko would leave; tonight's alcohol induced haze would wear off and his Master would notice the absence..._

_He remembered the look on the other's face as he shovelled sand over the corpse. It had been vacant, but for a look of mild confusion and _pre-occupation_, as though trying to remember something he'd thought of a while ago; not at all paying attention to the scene at hand. It had frightened him almost as much as the blood - for although death and torture were not uncommon in the Master's camp, he himself had never killed anyone before..._

_It was then that a yeel yipped, uncertainly at first as it sniffed the ground, the air, whilst it stood by its Ichani Kariko, but then – confirmation. The animal took off towards the makeshift burial site and the Ichani looked up, narrowed his eyes and yelled something to a slave who bowed hastily and took off after it, the stationary young cook unaware of Kariko's now steady gaze taking in the panic and terror on the other's face. And the suspicious looking bruising around his neck._

_A shout was heard a minute or so later, and both Sachakans alone with Dakova, looked up at the noise. The cook heard Kariko swear sharply, and knew his time had run out. His muscles would not obey. He couldn't move, could not get up even as the elder brother rose whilst Dakova fumed and ordered slaves to go and help the scout bring the body back. The cook had never his Master so angry before..._

_Takan turned back to his cleaning and hoped, prayed to any divine force that would listen for neither Ichani to notice – for the lives of him and his sister to be spared._

_It was already too late by the time he noticed the elder Ichani looming over him, his presence announced by a powerful kick to the back of his head, white light exploding across Takan's vision as his grip on the pan slackened and it slipped from his fingers into the watery depths of the lake. The slave's mind was struggling beneath the waves of pain to keep conscious, Ichani Kariko's shouts distorted as though hearing it underwater: _

"_...worthless...scum...dare you...!...your master?...sent you?" _

_He was kicked in the stomach even as he curled up into a fetal position. "...ME, SLAVE."_

_Takan trembled as the Ichani tore his head from the ground by his hair and stabbed his fingers against his temples._

_**Who sent you to kill my brother?**_

_The slave's mind stumbled over the words, comprehending the primal need to understand and reply quickly, but, oh, his head hurt so much..._

_**Kill...my Master? I would **_**never**_** kill my master.**_

_And it was true. He knew Dakova would defeat him even if he tried._

_The younger Ichani appeared next to his brother, a kaleidoscope of expressions flitting across his face as the two nobles conversed. Dakova's face turned contemplative at his brother's words and Takan's Master turned back to his slave, as though regarding the cook for the very first time. He hauled Takan to his feet by his hair, causing the younger Sachakan to whimper quietly in pain, whilst his Master pressed two fingers to the centre of his forehead – a light gesture understated by the force and power of the presence that smashed through Takan's mental defences with all the grace and subtlety of a brick through a glass window. _

_He was aware of a voice (his own?) pleading in the background as the Ichani tore through his memories, ripping apart anything in his way. The slave couldn't hear, think or feel anything, his every thought annihilated as the hurricane scoured his mind, growing impatient in its search for..._something_._

_The events of this afternoon rose to the surface, and though Takan didn't want to watch, he couldn't bring himself to look away either. It showed the two cooks walking away the camp, the picture blurred and suddenly he was back on the sand again with the other man's weight boring down on him, rubbery fingers squeezing his neck. Takan could feel himself hyperventilate, unsure of whether it was part of the memory or a result of seeing it happen all over again. The angle shifted and he found himself looking directly into his victim's eyes; his heart chilled once more by the malice and the hatred searing through his own and Takan distantly heard himself cry out - though he couldn't remember doing so that afternoon._

_And then there was the sensation of _something_ in his mind slotting into place, the moment of confusion and fear mirrored in the other's eyes. His enemy's face seemed to shut down as all the tension drained from his face and his hands slid away from his neck –_

_Dakova pulled away abruptly and Takan's head lolled to the side, his throat dry and sore. A young woman pleaded and sobbed for someone not to be hurt, but the words and the tone of her voice held no meaning to him. His eyes pricked from the unshed tears and the still smoking brand of his victim's glare; aware of the other slaves watching as he began to cry and rolled away from the pity and the wordless accusations, looking out to the lake and the lushness of the trees on the far bank..._

_Someone blocked his line of view by crouching down in front of him, a single finger forcing him to raise his head and look back at his addressor; and though their face was still out of focus, Takan instinctively knew the person before him was smiling._

* * *

On the other side of the wall, a sheet covered lump lay curled up against the partition, tufts of dark copper hair poking out like bristles from a well worn paintbrush. A small hand rested against the cool hard surface of the wall, fingernails short and uneven from when he'd bitten them the day before.

A man in mid to late thirties approached the bed quietly, dressed in casual clothing of a simple white shirt and dark trousers made of good quality material. He stopped at the side of the bed and regarded the lump in amusement and an odd sense of nostalgia for the times when the boy had been so much younger, back in the times when everything had seemed to be going so well...

Not to imply that his feelings for his son had faded, not at all, the magician could see flickers of the wonderful young man his son would become – it was just a little unnerving sometimes how quickly it all went past. Minutes melted into hours into days into years, the translation slick and seamless like oil across a smooth surface. Or sand between his fingers. Time waited for no man; it always escaped somehow, regardless of his attempts to stall for more.

The man sighed quietly, the action adding years to his face. It wouldn't do to be sad, the future was bright in the form of his son; if nothing else, he would always have him, and the thought gave him some small measure of comfort.

He leaned over, pulled the sheets away from the boy's face and took a moment to smile, placing a kiss on the teenager's temple; making sure this time that he put up a small barrier that prevented him from catching any glimpses of what the other thought of while he slept - something Dorrien had _insisted_ on after being interrupted during a rather _enjoyable_ dream.

_-Wake up, Dorrien. _

The teenager flinched at the mental communication, giving a small growl of irritation as he pulled the covers back over his head. His father smiled at him from the bedside.

_-Come on. I've let you have your lie-in; it's afternoon now._

At this, Dorrien let out a low groan of despair, movements slow as he rolled over and stretched.

Rothen turned back to the main area of his rooms, satisfied his son would rise momentarily, to see his wife standing by the window looking out onto the Gardens and the various students bidding each other farewell on the road beyond. There were dark bruises under her eyes were especially vivid in when in contrast to the unlit room, and Rothen knew with an aching heart that Yilara couldn't been sleeping well lately. This particular medication was no longer strong enough to keep the illness at bay - and the effect had worn off faster than it ever had before...

Yilara looked over at her husband and smiled brightly, though it seemed a little strained and lacked some the sparkle that had been present in times gone past. Yet to him, its beauty had never faded. And neither had hers.

Her eyes glinted in mischief as she allowed herself to be pulled into an embrace, resting one hand on her lover's chest. Whilst the amount of physical contact she had with her husband had by no means declined much from when she had been in better health; and they still loved each other very much – it felt different now. Her husband was considerably lighter, softer with his touches than before, even when they made love as they had done a few days before (it amused her to no end how Rothen still got all red-faced and flustered over _that_ subject in general – though she supposed his day-to-day job did not require the physical contact and distinct lack of squeamishness that hers did).

But it _did _seem to her that he and everyone else treated her as though she would shatter unless without the utmost care and it annoyed her immensely – she was a woman, not a prized ornament on a mantelpiece. Yilara knew they all meant well, but it wasn't nice to be reminded of her weakness on a daily basis.

She felt Rothen kiss her forehead, cheeks, lips lingering on her mouth; as well as the way the hands slipping over her waist and hips, deliberately moving away whenever they happened across an area that seemed unnaturally bony or thin.

Perhaps he found her angles too _acute _for his mathematical mind to deal with.

The Alchemist murmured against her hair about how breakfast was waiting for them on the table, and they headed over to it together, Yilara willing away the tinge of hurt at the other's refusal to hold her, and at the way he seemed to cling to her arm, as though scared she would collapse into a boneless heap without his support. She felt her appetite slip away_._

They were halfway through their cups of sumi when Dorrien was finally regurgitated from his bedroom, bare feet scuffing against the floor as he blundered over to the table, his hairstyle reminiscent of someone who had tried, and failed, to wrestle a wild animal. The teenager slouched into his seat, and grunted a greeting at them both. Yilara smiled, unable to hold back a chuckle at the transformation from the sometimes _overly_ cheerful morning-loving little boy to the creature before her eyes. The Healer reached over and ruffled Dorrien's thick dark hair, and the boy whined and shuffled away whilst Rothen grinned at the exchange.

Then chastised his son for yawning without covering his mouth. Dorrien grumbled in reply.

Few words were said and yet the atmosphere remained relaxed and easy. This was the way their family gatherings were - they were few and far between as each magician usually ate at different times to suit their routines; and so the three of them were just content to be in each other's presence for once.

Dorrien stared at his plate, half eating-half playing with the food on his plate as he pondered over one of the reasons for his unusual sleeping pattern. The room next door. Akkarin and Lorlen. _Together_.

Shards of memory slowly drifted back through the fog that clouded his mind. They'd made a lot of noise early this morning with their..._mutual fondling_. The boy felt heat rush to his face and he fidgeted as his brain was bombarded with possible images, rather accurate recollections of the noises they'd made...

Dorrien winced, and bit his bottom lip hard. Rothen raised an eyebrow.

"Are you feeling OK, Dorrien?" he asked the boy and felt his wife's interested gaze on their son as well. The flush across Dorrien's face deepened as he suddenly wished for the ability to sink through the floor. Across the table, his parents exchanged a look and Yilara forced herself to maintain a serious, concerned aura.

"Your father is right, you don't look very well at all. Perhaps you have a fever," he said as she leaned towards the boy to place a hand on his forehead.

The teenager's eyes bulged as he almost pushed his chair over in his haste to get away from the imposing hand, not wishing to explain to his _parents_ what he'd been thinking about.

"N-No! I'm fine, honestly!"

Surprised by his sudden outburst, both adults looked at their son with curious expressions on their faces and Dorrien bowed his head to the ground. "Excuse me please. I'm not feeling very hungry at the moment." He announced flatly as he turned and all but ran back to his bedroom.

The magicians stared at the spot their son had occupied before facing eachother. Yilara cast her husband a sympathetic look, her eyes bright with silent laughter, whilst Rothen merely shook his head, small red patches forming high on his cheeks as a knowing smile remained on his face.

* * *

The small group of servants Rothen greeted at his front door a few minutes later did not look very happy.

They wore a smart black and white uniform and an incal he recognised as belonging to House Delvon. Three rather bulky suitcases rested against the banister behind them and the Alchemist held back a grimace, guessing that they had most likely attempted to carry the bags up one of the building's narrow, winding staircases. That they had succeeded was, in itself, a triumph.

"Good afternoon gentlemen. Can I be of assistance?"

A young man with black hair and eyes a fascinating shade of green bowed formally and stepped forwards, asking the Alchemist if they might have a moment of his time. The magician agreed and invited the servants inside, the door closing with a small click behind them.

After a few moments of quiet, the next door down the corridor opened a crack. The three suitcases silently rose off the ground and drifted down the hallway. The door shut behind them silently.

* * *

The bags were set down in the centre of the guest room, and a shuddery sigh slipped through the silence as he massaged his sore temples. His eyelids became heavy as he stared at the suitcases, before sliding down the wooden floor, clutching the white sheet he had taken from the bedroom around his naked body. His clothes were in a clustered heap on the floor, but he couldn't face donning last night's outfit again. He didn't even want to look at it. He also knew that a visit to the Baths should also be high on the priority list, but...Lorlen just couldn't be bothered to do _anything._

He knew such a defeatist attitude went against everything he believed in: that even when your life came crashing down around you, and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and implode - there was still work to be done; whether it be helping someone else, doing assignments or reading up on something. The trick was to _not think about it_.

That was what he'd done when he'd first arrived at the Guild all those years ago, an aimless husk of a child who'd never even seen a proper _city_, let alone Imardin, until some two weeks before the Initiation Ceremony. He'd walked into the University with Walin and the other boy's parents, and hadn't the willpower to tell them he didn't _really_ want to join the Guild. Lorlen just wanted to go home, with his mother. But she'd gone now, gone to join his father...and so, in her absence, he'd revived their one of their favourite pastimes - reading.

Every minute of those first few weeks outside lesson time and a few hours of sleep (which even then he had sometimes tried to make himself forego), he had gone to the library and read. Textbooks. Books on culture. Fairytales. Ancient Myths. But mainly textbooks – just as she had told him to.

_...promise that you'll do your best and show them that being a member of the Houses does _not_ make them superior to you...show them how much _better_ you are... _no-one_ is above you, Lorlen. Understand? __**NO-ONE**__._

Lorlen had joined the Guild with only his mother's (she who had been cast out of her family) viewpoints on the House social system and had instantly wanted nothing to do with any of his peers. He'd read and worked ahead, the next lesson's work, next week's work, next month's work. He vowed to learn _everything_, annihilate every barrier they put in his way – he _would be better than all of them_ – even that boy Akkarin.

Lorlen had ingested it all with a hunger and a ferocity that even the librarian, who had been keeping a close eye on him, had found disturbing in a child so young. The boy had even been there during meal times, not wanting to eat with the others out of fear and repulsion; he grew thin, pale...the teachers began to pull him aside after lessons – ask if he was being bullied or if he wanted to move seats and sit next to someone he wanted to talk to; and all the while Lorlen muttered his customary 'no thank you much my Lord/Lady, I'll be fine' at the ground in between them.

And then, after five weeks of Warrior theory, there had been their first ever practical lesson in Arena-

The sound of Lord Rothen's door opening was loud enough to startle him, and he allowed himself to wince as the House Delvon servants exclaimed at the empty space the bags had been in. He knew should have at least unlocked the door when they'd knocked earlier (as Akkarin's note had predicted), but...he'd just wanted to be _left alone_. His former Alchemy Teacher calmly dismissed them, saying he would sort it all out and they had complied easily enough.

Light footsteps walked towards down the corridor to the rooms, and Lorlen's chest began to ache from how fast his heart was thumping and how little oxygen he was letting himself breathe for fear of giving himself away. The tread stopped as the little colour left drained from his face, his complexion matching the white sheets that covered his bare hips, the material trembling lightly in his grip.

_-Lorlen._

The Healer froze.

_-It's OK, I've sent them away now...I'd like to welcome you on behalf of my family and wish you a good summer break. Feel free to drop by whenever you want to; someone will almost always be there. _

The Alchemist waited seemed to leave the sentence hanging. Lorlen felt the room being scanned for a presence and felt a blanket like sensation engulf him as he willed himself into non-existence. Rothen sighed quietly after a few moments.

_-I'll leave the door unlocked for you._

Rothen's presence and footsteps grew distant and the sheet slipped through his slackened fingers, pooling around his bare feet. Goosebumps rose to the surface of his skin, fine dark hairs prickling from a gust of wind that whistled in through a crack in the bottom of the door. He gave the door a blank look and a fragile template of a smile before turning back to regard the room before him.

There was nothing special about it, he'd seen into other rooms of the Magician's Quarters before and knew this space to be identical to every other he had encountered. The floor was made of wood, a different type from the main door – lighter in complexion, greyed with age and dust gathered from disuse. It was big, certainly large enough to store all that he owned and more.

Empty words, empty mind, empty room, empty life.

Empty empty empty empty empty.

The bittersweet tang of irony made his lips twist into a grimace-like snarl. There was silence.

"What do I do now?"

He wasn't sure whether saying it aloud made him feel anymore substantial as a human being, or if it was simply something to fill the room, if only for a moment. His lips mind room did not reply.

His life? For the last five years, his life had consisted almost _entirely of_ Akkarin. Akkarin _was_ his life. Akkarin was now gone. Therefore, there was nothing left.

...there was nothing left...

The thought sparked a reaction in him, and he wordlessly stood up – urging himself to do something to keep himself occupied. A sharp bolt of pain ripped up his spine and the Healer whimpered quietly. The ache when he'd woken up earlier, both from the hangover and from...had been _hideous; _and whilst he'd Healed some of it away, Lorlen had deliberately kept a portion of it behind. He didn't want to think about why – it had just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

He stood and made his way over to the suitcases, popped the latch on the nearest one and began to remove his belongings. He'd gotten to his stuffed toy of a reber when he stopped, overcome by an desire, a longing he hadn't felt in years.

The idea of it sounded ludicrous at first, but then – could he _really_ stay _here_ tonight? In _that room_, _alone_, after what had happened?

The Healer's hands dropped to the suitcase.

Lorlen put the toy back and began re-packing.

* * *

Rothen had been surprised, but happy, when he found Lorlen outside his door a few minutes later, and invited the young Healer inside. Yilara had looked up from her cup of sumi and smiled warmly, gesturing for Lorlen to sit down and help himself to some breakfast, the Healer decline earning him a mildly condescending look from the Head of Healing Studies as she glanced at her husband and asked why it was all young people seemed eager to starve themselves today.

Yilara had suddenly began to cough violently, and at once the carefree light-hearted atmosphere had vanished, the noises hoarse and unpleasant as she'd hunched over in her chair, and her husband had hurried off in the direction of what Lorlen presumed to be their bedroom. His former teacher's voice, usually so calm and even, seemed unsteady as he'd asked Lorlen to pour her a fresh glass of water and keep her breathing her normally. A door on the other side of the rooms opened and another set of footsteps approached the towards the two Healers, as a boy with thick dark hair knelt down on the floor besides the chair and held her hand, his voice wavering when he called her name and she replied only with heaves.

Lorlen had set down the glass and fell to his knees, holding her hands whilst she'd tried to get her breath back. He'd sent his mind into her body, his concentration shaken in his hurry to find the source of the problem, and found it there, in her lungs and felt himself freeze as he saw.

_What on _earth...?

She pulled her hands away firmly, severing their connection abruptly as Rothen re-entered the room with her medication. The three males had watched with baited breath as she poured some of the white powder into a glass of water and began to drink, the sounds of her swallowing loud in the near silence. Yilara had placed the then empty glass back on the table and took a few more deep breaths, her head bowed towards the ground. The boy, Lorlen presumed him to be their son, had knelt down next to him and wrapped his arms around his mother's leg, resting his head on her knee. Once her breathing calmed, she gave a breathless laugh and ran her fingers through the boy's dark hair. Rothen put his hand on her shoulder and she squeezed it back with a strained smile on her face.

My apologies, the female had said when she looked back at Lorlen, her expression all ease and friendliness, as though nothing had ever happened, and made a humorous comment about how Rothen would never be late to any of his lessons if he ran as fast as that all the time.

Lorlen had watched in awe at the sheer strength and willpower of the woman before his eyes. He'd felt ashamed of himself for bailing out so early on – he was complaining about _his_ life? At least he _had_ his health, she didn't and yet...

Oh, he was so _pathetic_.

_-It's OK__. _

The mental communication had made him look back up and it was only then he realised he'd started crying. Yilara's concerned face swam in his vision, and the Head of Healing Studies had leaned forward in her chair to hold his hands, just as the young magician had done for her only a minute or so beforehand. Her smile was soft and relaxed like a warm embrace; and Lorlen remembered the horrific lurching sensation in his chest as he recalled that smile from another time so, so long ago...

A pale gaunt face that had haunted his memories flashed before him and Lorlen had let out a sob before he could stifle it and looked to the ground, not wanting these strangers to see him like this. What was _wrong_ with him today? Yilara had stroked his hands with her thumbs.

_**-**__You were only trying to help; only trying to do what you thought was best - that's all that matters. All that ever mattered__**.**_

Lorlen's eyes snap to meet hers and for a split second, her words seem to brush something deep inside him. The young Healer felt a tentative grip on his arm and had looked down to the boy gazing at him with confusion, pain but a strong sense of determination that made Lorlen pause. How old was this boy – 12, 13? The child was even younger than Lorlen himself had been back then, and he was already so grown up. The thought made him sad. Had he himself looked like that? Lorlen smiled shakily at his former teacher's son and felt rather than saw the boy smile back in return. He looked up at Rothen and smiled brightly. The Alchemist had a beautiful family, and he was honoured to even be considered a temporary attachment of it.

After that, Lorlen had hastily made his exit, bidding the three of them farewell and happiness over the summer holidays. Rothen had seen him to the door, clapping a hand down on the Healer's shoulders with a sympathetic smile on his face and Lorlen had laughed at what a state he must look. Rothen had never seen him as anything other than the quiet, passive student he'd been in class. His former teacher had wished him good luck and closed the door, the young magician abruptly stopped from turning back to his room by the curiosity in the boy's big blue eyes. Something had flashed across his gaze as he nodded sombrely in farewell, the door closing quietly between them.

Lorlen had remained outside the door for a few moments before turning back towards his rooms, unable to dismiss the eerie familiarity of the boy's parting look. He felt himself shudder and picked his pace as he headed back to his own rooms, the building falling silent once more as the door shut with a small click.

* * *

The young Healer left the rooms bare when he emerged a short while later, the bags once again outside in the corridor. Lorlen had arranged for the House Rassil carriage – the only one he had access to – to meet him around him outside the Healer's Quarters in half an hour.

He would carry the bags there himself; servants were, after all, like magicians, only human – and though it was technically their job, he thought it unfair that someone without magic should be left to carry a heavy load when he could just do it himself. The upper classes had grown so used to having someone to fulfil their every fleeting whim, they had grown lazy and selfish in their inactivity. Lorlen suddenly couldn't wait to leave the Guild; he had a feeling he wouldn't miss it nearly as much as he had suspected so barely a couple of weeks ago. But well –

The brunet coldly slapped the thought aside as he stepped out in the afternoon sun, annoyed at himself for having wasted almost the entire day.

At this rate, he'd be lucky to reach his destination before nightfall; the path that led there thinned out halfway through the forest – the carriage would not fit through, so he'd have to disembark and carry the bags there himself; and Lorlen really didn't like the thought of trying to navigate his way through the woods in the dark...

How long had it been since his last visit, he mused, regarding the two or three vehicles left on the road in front of the University. Three years? Four?

_Five years in thirty two days time_, the Healer recalled as he watched two magicians standing by a large carriage a short distance away, hating how accurately he remembered.

Lorlen felt himself brooding again and was grateful when one of the magicians spotted him and smiled brightly. The purple-robed man left the carriage to greet the Healer, his smile dropping a little by the time they were face to face.

"Lorlen." The man sounded almost relieved to see him.

The shorter magician attempted to return the expression, nodding in acknowledgement.

"Hello, Terrell. I heard you two were leaving now...?"

The Alchemist looked briefly back over his shoulder at Yikmo.

"Yes, we are; Lorlen..."

The man in question felt himself frown lightly at his friend's distracted tone. Terrell's face crumpled into a terrible sort of despairing anguish, sorrow colouring his voice. " -_why didn't you _tell_ me?"_

Dark eyes widened at the other's words, dread making his stomach clench.

_No – it's not possible...there's _no way_-_

"Ah, I wondered if you would show up."

Yikmo's voice had never been more welcome and Lorlen felt lies false words spew from his mouth like blood from a ruptured vessel. He had never been so competent at lying before, and he blamed his new talent on...

Never mind.

"I apologise; you were right – I really _don't_ know how to hold my drink." The Healer grimaced, causing the Warrior to grin toothily and shook his head.

"And you call yourself a Healer? You better than _anyone_ should know how much you can or can't handle."

The Kyralian's rueful smile was not entirely forced.

The Vindo nodded over Lorlen's shoulder. "Going somewhere nice?"

If Terrell was shocked by the Healer's sudden departure plans, he didn't show it.

"'_Nice_' isn't the word I'd use."

Yikmo laughed and Lorlen found himself smiling at how genuine it sounded.

"I hope you have a relaxing time, regardless. We all need some time away after yesterday; a _fresh start_." His eyes drifted to the silent Alchemist by his side, but made no further comment. "What are your plans anyway?"

"Not much in all honesty; I have nothing planned so I think I'll just take each day as it comes, see how it goes." The Warrior blinked slowly, his face unmoving for a moment. He grinned again.

"You shouldn't say that – free-time always goes quicker that way."

Lorlen laughed quietly under his breath.

"Perhaps...but anyway," he stepped forward and embraced the Vindo warmly, "take care of yourself, yes? I'll write you in the near future."

Yikmo pulled a face.

"Don't say that, you sound just like Akkarin."

The Healer's face tightened.

"I promise."

The Warrior smirked and turned back towards the carriage, clapping his hand down on Terrell's arm in a sign that stated they needed to leave soon. The Healer and the Alchemist stood in silence for a short while, the silence awkward for reasons Lorlen knew he probably should recall but couldn't. He nevertheless broke the silence first by smiling.

"I hope to see you too, Terrell." His voice was quiet, soft and the Alchemist seemed to flinch away, but beamed in return nonetheless.

"And I you!"

The taller magician embraced Lorlen, drowning him in purple robes. The Healer tried to pull away a few seconds later, but the Alchemist's grip around his back held firm, and Lorlen hesitantly wrapped his arms around the other once more. Terrell eventually let go, and the short magician was left confused by the look his friend was giving him.

"Goodbye my friend."

And then Lorlen stepped away, turning his back to the carriage but the Alchemist remained stationary. He said nothing in reply.

* * *

Terrell joined Yikmo inside the carriage a couple of minutes later after checking the bags were secure one last time. He was headed for Elyne, but agreed to drop his friend off at Immardin's port where the Vindo Warrior would return to his homeland by boat.

He opened and closed the door, rapped his knuckles against the carriage ceiling and felt the vehicle lurch forwards as it trundled away.

Lorlen stopped and turned back to face the retreating vehicle, smiling as he waved. Yikmo leant out the window and waved back, content to temporarily ignore Terrell who sat adjacent in brooding silence. Neither of them spoke until they had passed the front Gates.

"You didn't tell him."

The harsh tone of the statement sounded accusatory even to Yikmo's ears, but he wasn't in the mood for showing his friend sympathy right now. The Alchemist's lack of reply seemed to agree with him, and the Warrior made a rude noise. "What were you _doing_ yesterday evening? I thought this was one of the reasons _why _you decided to go after him following your little _spat_ with Akkarin."

Terrell looked uncharacteristically angry when he met Yikmo's gaze.

"It's none of his business."

The Vindo looked shocked as realisation dawned on him.

"...You _like_ him, don't you?"

"_And your point _is?"

Yikmo frowned severely, but remained silent. Terrell regarded him with cold amusement.

"You don't approve."

The Warrior looked away. It was true that homosexual relationships were not exactly encouraged in Vindo culture, and were more often than not seen as a disgraceful act unless under _extreme_ circumstances...but this situation was not borne of extreme circumstances. This was just Terrell being stupid and overemotional. The fact that his chosen "concubine" would be the man they'd just left behind, especially with Akkarin no longer around...Lorlen was fragile at the moment, and he didn't need Terrell's indecisiveness right now to screw with his head even further.

"My personal feelings aside, Lorlen deserves to know the truth - and you'd be a poor friend to think otherwise."

The Alchemist bared his teeth silently, his eyes boring holes through the floor of the carriage. Yikmo sighed loudly. _This is absurd. I shouldn't even _have_ to explain why this is so wrong. _The carriage pulled to a halt and the Warrior looked out the window, the murky brown water of the Tarali River on the other side of a cobbled street that lay before them.

"Yikmo."

The man in question looked up.

"If Lorlen and I ever meant _anything_ to you, _you won't tell him_."

The red-robed magician flinched. That wasn't fair.

"Why can't you just _tell_ him? If he is so important to you, surely you would want him to be-"

"I'm just trying to help, OK?"

"Help him or yourself? Because you certainly won't be helping her-"

"Them." The Alchemist's voice was unnaturally calm and quiet.

"...what?"

Terrell gulped silently and looked out of the window.

" 'Because you won't be helping _them'_. Not just her. Not anymore."

The Warrior stared. The piece slotted into place with an almost tangible _chink_.

His eyes widened impossibly. _Oh no..._

The Alchemist's eyes shimmered oddly in the late afternoon sunlight, his face contorted in bittersweet agony. He pushed the door open and waited in silence for Yikmo to get out.

"No, Terrell, wait-"

"Close the door on your way out, please."

Yikmo remained in his seat for a few moments, until he realised that, as far as his friend was concerned, this conversation was over. He stepped outside, the driver already undoing the ropes that secured the suitcases to the roof of the carriage. The Warrior took the suitcases from the servant, who bowed politely in return. The magician went back to the window and peered in to find his friend hunched into the far corner, glistening tracks making his cheeks sparkle. He'd _never_ seen Terrell cry before...

"Terrell."

The Alchemist looked up and smiled brilliantly as always - but this time it wobbled.

"I hope you'll be able to come, Yikmo. Keep in touch."

The Warrior nodded in agreement and Terrell knocked again on the carriage ceiling, the vehicle stuttering as it began to cross the cobbled pathways that ran alongside the riverbank. Yikmo watched it go with a sadness for his best friend's pain that made his stomach flip.

It wasn't until a few hours later he realised that Terrell hadn't actually answered his question.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: ****Sorry it took a while to get this up guys - I had written about 4,000 words at one point and then just thought 'naaaah' and started it again. It turned out a lot different from what I had in mind. **

**But yeah! Got the entire plotline sorted. Decided it would be too long for one story and so have split it up and changed the title of this bit because I've done a bit of a U-turn and the themes have changed :D**

**OK - chapter dedication - I don't usually do this, but this chapter has to go to my good friend, fellow fanfic writer and RP partner-in-crime: StuffsRockInnit, who beta-read this incidentally (THANK YOU SOOOO DAMN MUCH). It's her birthday today - so don't forget to go spam her inbox! And, um, have a chapter XP? Oh and some virtual pizza ^_^ - LOL we never really made it to Pizza Express in the end...**

**If you haven't already - I'd advise you all to go check out Disturbia, it's a _seriously_ good fic that really deserves more love...**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, you guys are just awesome beyond words. I dunno what I'd do without your support. ****I'll shuup now and let you reeeead. Enjoy!**

**~L2~**

* * *

In the evenings before he'd gone to sleep, Lorlen's mother let her son choose one book from the library to let her read to him. He was not allowed to read it himself - if he wanted to do that, she would turn off the lights and he would have to go to sleep straight away.

Lorlen didn't like the dark, it was big and dark and it shifted, moved and creaked like a living animal that stalked him during the day and waited for him to fall asleep before leaping on him and ripping him to shreds; like the limek did to the yeel that time he'd looked out of the window. He wanted his mother to stay with him until the creatures went away; so he always chose a book for her to read.

One book in particular was his favorite. It was expensive looking, though quite small, and the gilt decorations on the front cover were gold, glistening like water in the candlelight. It didn't have a title; but Lorlen knew that his mother was pleased whenever he chose it.

It was an old legend, originally from Lan - and it told the story of a man who built himself wings out of wax and feathers. He taught himself, and his son, for whom he also built a set of wings, how to fly by watching the birds that surrounded the island they had been imprisoned on.

_Wings. _

"Like an angel?" Lorlen had asked, imagining the two people held aloft, wings pearly white speckled with brown and grey, iridescent in the afternoon sunlight. His mother had smiled and nodded, going onto explain that they had believed that the wings would grant them the freedom they had been denied for so long.

But when they finally took to the skies, though the father had warned his son about the dangers of flying too close to the sea and too high in the sky, the boy had been 'corrupted' by his thoughts of freedom and liberty and soared _too_ high, _too_ close to the sun; causing the wax holding the feathers together to melt. The wings fell apart, feather by feather stripped away – and the boy hurtled back through the clouds, plunging towards the undulating blackness of the sea below.

And there had been no-one there to catch him.

Lorlen hadn't understood it at all, still upset from the shock of an _un_happy ending.

Why hadn't the boy listened to his father? Why had he not paid attention? Had he not realized that the wings were melting?

"Freedom is a dangerous thing, Lorlen." She'd told him, "Most people see freedom as a direct path to happiness; and there are those who will do _anything_ to know what it feels like…the desire to know corrupts their judgment, makes them think irrationally about their situation in life and what their priorities are.

"It overwhelms everything: duty, honor, love…they throw their entire futures away, not realizing that the further away they stray, the higher they climb, and the more feathers begin to fall. And so - the only way to be free forever, to keep your wings - is to stay put."

She'd planted a kiss on the top of his head and wished him goodnight.

He hadn't been able to sleep.

* * *

A couple of hours after Lorlen left Imardin, the man stood outside the door to the young Healer's new rooms lowered the purple hood of his Alchemist's robes, which had been up despite being indoors.

The magician was frozen to the spot, unable to remember a time he had felt so jittery, so 'on edge'; his half hidden hands shaking in fear and anticipation. His heart fluttered in his chest and he licked his lips, anxiety robbing his throat of moisture.

He didn't have to do this _now_, he told himself – he could quite easily come back tomorrow; after Lorlen had settled in a bit, had some time to sleep on everything that had happened today. Graduation Days were always rather emotional occasions after all, and he imagined it would be especially so for Lorlen with Akkarin leaving for Elyne...

_But..._

A lump swelled in the magician's throat. He had waited for this day for so long - before that lesson two years ago, before the secret euphoria and pride of the Initiation Ceremony. Oh so long; he had almost forgotten. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that _this was it_. The concept simply wouldn't fit.

It was almost funny how simply being there made the Alchemist feel like he was cheating on his wife, his children; his entire family – and perhaps in a way he was_._ They knew nothing of Lorlen, with the exception of his older brother, and...well, the other had made it clear from the start that he wanted nothing to do with this.

A cold sweat trickled down the side of his face as he pressed a hand against the door, preparing to scan the room for life-signs. He closed his eyes-

"Excuse me, my Lord."

A woman's voice disrupted his thoughts and he started, turning to face his addressor. His eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Lady Yilara."

The Head of Healing Studies stared at the man for a few moments, her expression unreadable.

Her stance told him she was not amused in the slightest; and the Alchemist briefly wondered if the Healer was a previously unforeseen obstacle standing between himself and Lorlen.

For her sake, he severely hoped not.

Yilara inclined her head, trying to match a name or even a House to this stranger's face. He seemed...familiar..._Damn, _she thought as his name remained elusive. She'd have to ask Rothen.

"If I may be so bold as to ask – are you looking for the Healer Lord Lorlen?"

She watched the Alchemist's reaction carefully, already feeling a little uneasy; there was something about this man she just _didn't like_. Perhaps it was the way he hovered around the door of a _teenager_, a young man she'd grown rather fond of, like he wasn't supposed to be there. Or maybe it was the guilt, the panic that flashed across his gaze when she'd called out to him?

Call it a woman's or even a mother's instinct, but Yilara was of the opinion that this magician, whoever he was, would not benefit Lorlen with his presence right now. If ever.

The Alchemist straightened, his face morphing back into one of polite indifference with a subtle arrogance that whispered of inbred superiority through high social rankings. "Yes, indeed I am. I was told these were his new living quarters?"

Yilara fought not to narrow her eyes. _Don't play with me._ "You are unexpectedly well informed – the transfer was completed only a few hours ago."

The man smiled easily and for some reason that made the Healer angrier. "I was directed here by a friend of his, Terrell, I believe. I have important business I wish to discuss with Lorlen alone."

Yilara's tone was cool as she replied. "I'm afraid you've just missed him – Lord Lorlen left the Guild in a carriage a couple of hours ago." She couldn't deny that the dejected look on his face didn't give her a sense of inner triumph.

"I see..."

"If you want, you can leave your name and House and I'll pass on your details to him when he returns...?"

The Alchemist frowned and looked at Lorlen's door, trailing his fingertips down the wooden surface almost longingly. "No, don't trouble yourself, my lady – I shall simply return another time." He smiled at her. "Thank you for your assistance."

Purple robes brushed the floor as he bowed shortly and strode off towards the staircase that led back outside. Yilara watched him go, two chips of blue ice pinned onto the back of his robes as she soundlessly followed him down the stairs at a distance.

She wouldn't let him go without at least a House name.

The Alchemist climbed into an unusually large carriage that seemed to dwarf those belonging to the students still saying their goodbyes, white paint spotless and metal wheels gleaming as if brand new. The door shut firmly and the vehicle trundled off across the University Pathway whilst Yilara looked for the House incal.

_There. _

She sucked in a quick breath, her eyes widening. That was the incal of House Sarron; a notoriously powerful House both magically and politically, based in Imardin.

It was an old family_, ancient_ - one of the few surviving birth lines that remained from the times of the Guild's formation. They were formidable allies and dangerous enemies to have, but they kept mostly to themselves nowadays; most members were now beyond child-bearing age and the line was dying out...

Yilara looked back at Lorlen's door, feeling very uneasy all of a sudden. They seemed to know quite a bit about the young Healer's life already, despite the fact that the Alchemist was clearly not in Lorlen's age group or (most likely) social circle, and the Healer felt herself shiver at the prospect that such people might even be keeping tabs on the young man without him realising...

The Alchemist had even said he would return at a later date – whatever business he had with Lorlen was _not_, apparently, the type to be brushed off lightly.

She found herself feeling genuinely worried for young man.

_Lorlen..._

* * *

The amber liquid was thick and tangy against his tongue as he emptied the glass, holding back a grimace at the aftertaste. That stuff was _vile_ – he'd already decided that after the second or third glass, but he was now on his sixth, chugging back the alcohol more for the sake of staying awake than because he was enjoying himself.

Akkarin took another glass from a passing servant holding a tray of the stuff and almost took two instead of one; but he had a feeling Mother had cottoned onto what he was doing. He couldn't care less really if he got utterly drunk off his face, this party was_ boring anyway_, but it seemed that she did. Though it was supposed to be _his_ celebration party, _she_ had been the one to organise it –choosing the decor, the outfit requirements, the food and drink, who to put on the guest list - and frankly, it showed.

The man leading the conversation he was 'listening' to barked in laughter, threw back his head, placing a hand over his stomach to suppress the laughing pains; and Akkarin instinctively tried to down some more alcohol - but his mother was there first, her skeletal hand gripping his wrist as talon like nails dug into the veins in his pale underarms and Akkarin gasped loudly as his knees almost buckled, hands flying to his mouth as he pretended to cough when the attention was focussed on him. Lady Delvon removed the glass from his hand and placed it out of reach. She looked concerned as she patted his back.

"Are you okay, Akkarin?"

The Warrior coughed again and wiped the moisture from his eyes. "Yes, Mother – I think the drink just went down the wrong pipe." he replied in a strangled voice, smiling ruefully and the group around them chuckled in amusement.

_What a stunning double act we make, Mother. We should've been actors._

She smiled fondly at him and he grinned shyly back, his face flushed from the coughing and what looked like embarrassment but felt like frustration and anger. Sometimes he almost hated her; hated her for hating him so much. What_ was _it he had done to her to warrant such hostility?

It was getting to the point where he didn't even care anymore.

He told himself it was _her_ who had the problem anyway, _she_ was the bad parent – normal mothers would have just _asked_ their children to cut back on the drinking when entertaining guests.

The conversation afterwards seemed to gravitate around him; questions about his time at the Guild, how his studies had gone, what would do during his time abroad and why he'd chosen to investigate ancient magic in particular.

They'd asked him about Laria too, someone asking how the marriage preparations were going; and everyone around them had broken out in laughter at the way Akkarin went bright red, his eyes blank and owlish like those of a lost child. _Young love_, they thought.

_This time next year, I'll be a married man_, Akkarin thought. His stomach suddenly felt very heavy.

All thoughts were erased by the sound of the bell ringing out through the noise, light yet clear like fresh air in a stuffy prison cell. Or an overcrowded mansion hall.

Members of his family just didn't do small gatherings.

Akkarin's father stood on a stage and addressed the crowd. He didn't give any little starting jokes to make the guests laugh like most people did, and whilst Akkarin himself had no opinion on that, Lorlen had said it was one of things that he liked about his father, the lack of false pretence. It was strange then that Lorlen and he were such good friends.

He drew his mind away the topic of his best friend and focussed instead on his father's speech.

The Warrior was no stranger to the older man's speeches – he'd snuck out of his room as a child when his parents had guests over and listened, watched his father's face and general demeanour as he spoke, pyjama clad legs dangling through the gaps in the second floor banisters. Nothing _ever_ seemed to faze his father; he never lost control of his words or emotions. If anyone ever asked a tricky question, he would give this quiet little smile and answer brilliantly or give a retort that effectively silenced the opposition. Those on his father's side would cheer loudly and Akkarin would smile at his father in awe.

Some called him aloof, cold; even arrogant. But he had thought his father was amazing; the best father in the world, _ever_. He'd wanted to be just like him when he grew up.

"...And here he is now, all grown up."

Akkarin looked up at him and saw a hint of a smile pulling at the other's lips. He hadn't been able to keep that silent promise – he wasn't like his father at all.

_Did I disappoint you in the end, father- for not being who you wanted me to be? For not being you?_

"Come here."

The warrior was already moving through the crowd before he'd even comprehended his father's request, and Akkarin felt wary of the power this man still had over him all these years later. He stood on the stage next to Lord Delvon, and a tinge of stage fright made his heart stutter as everyone's gaze fixed on him.

Lord Delvon smiled dryly.

"I'm not going to lie, Akkarin - raising you was _not_ easy," the guests burst into laughter and the Warrior bowed his head in embarrassment, "You're too optimistic, too impulsive, too loud, _infuriatingly_ stubborn and hard-headed and your curiosity will be the death of you, but -" the nobleman smiled crookedly, "we're getting there, I think."

A smirk appeared on Akkarin's face, wanting to both disappear through the floor and laugh at his own humiliation.

"And so a toast," Lord Delvon raised his glass, "to Lord Akkarin – a reckless fool and a scoundrel he may be, but he's my son – and I couldn't have asked for a better one."

"To Lord Akkarin!" the crowd echoed.

The nobleman took a sip of his drink, and he was all but smothered by his son as Akkarin barrelled into his father's chest and hid his face in older man's shoulder.

A chorus of 'aww' followed and the guests began to cheer and applaud loudly. Lord Delvon's face melted from one of shock into one of wry fondness as he put down the glass and, in a rare display of affection, hugged his son back, chuckling quietly as he shook his head at the other's antics.

Lady Delvon watched from the sidelines, her expression carefully neutral. She neither clapped nor cheered.

* * *

Akkarin stayed with his father for some time after the speech had officially ended, listening to the man partake in conversations and discussions made interesting for the sole reason that it was _him_ arguing about it. Lord Delvon hadn't changed at all; still able to tip a discussion in his favour with a few simple words, able to dismantle any argument thrown at him with an ease that left Akkarin feeling almost intimidated - and he felt a swell of pride that such a person was his father. He felt like that little kid again, so eager to impress, so easy to please.

It was already well into the evening when the nobleman extracted himself from the Warrior, explaining he had important business to attend to; the two men parting ways with a quick but warm embrace, and Akkarin felt the loss almost immediately as he watched his idol slip from his sight amidst the other guests.

There was a quiet but firm command for him to follow and Akkarin looked up to see his mother by his side, her arm linking with his as she guided him purposefully through the crowd, determination etched across her features. He frowned and looked away, not wanting to know what scheme she was up to as he let himself be dragged along.

His eyes ghosted across the faces of those they passed, looking for anyone his age looked that familiar.

Laria was not there, her father saying she felt unwell, though Akkarin was sure she'd been fine when they'd parted that morning...

A couple of his classmates were here somewhere, but not the ones he spoke to on a regular basis. There was no Terrell, no Yikmo nor Patulia nor Heslan or even Vitriell. He reminded himself that he had seen them all at yesterday's party, but still – their absences were harder to ignore when he was surrounded by so many strangers.

There was no Lorlen either.

Unlike the Warrior's mother, his father had actually encouraged Akkarin to invite his friend over during Guild holidays; despite being known then as a member of House Rassil – of whom few had ever even heard of (Lorlen got his title changed during their Fourth Year). His father had once told Akkarin: 'Your conscience gave up trying to keep you in check – it's a wonder that a boy with such common sense hasn't realised it's a lost cause by now.'

Lady Delvon hadn't warmed up to him until after she'd found out about his relation to House Sarron. She turned cold again when it turned out that Lorlen didn't know _anything_ about the House or the people in it.

"Akkarin, there is someone I would like you to meet."

The Warrior was dragged back from his thoughts by his mother's change in tone.

A middle aged man stood before them, surrounded by two others Akkarin faintly recognised, all three dressed in dark velvets and other expensive materials though the outfits themselves were rather simple; almost understated. The man in question was tall, slim and imposing, with hair dark and relatively short, contrasting with the startling paleness of his skin and-

And the mouth-drying chilliness of his piercing grey eyes. There was no sense of warmth or comfort anywhere in those eyes, like a barren wasteland that the sun seemed to neither rose nor set over. Akkarin had never met someone so _unnerving_ in his life.

"This is Lord Tagin, Head of House Sarron."

_Tagin_...?

...That was the name Akkarin had reserved Lorlen's new rooms under that very afternoon. The Warrior felt an unpleasant shudder rack his bones, shock and disbelief warring on his face. _Impossible_, he told himself.

It _had_ to be some kind of sick joke.

"It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Lord Akkarin."

Lord Tagin's voice was low and subdued as bowed respectfully at the young magician, and the Warrior spotted faint freckles on the man's face. Akkarin had a brief, vivid memory of Lorlen lying asleep by his side, of brushing back his friend's long hair with trembling hands to see those freckles-_Dusted across his cheeks and his nose_.

Just like Lord Tagin.

His chest seized. This man was somehow related, _very _closely, to Lorlen_ – _through his father'sside_... _

Akkarin gulped quietly, feeling very unsettled all of a sudden. His friend had grown up knowing only his mother's family, because his father had died when he was very young. When Lorlen expressed a wish to find his father's relatives, not long after he had changed his title to match theirs, Akkarin had whole-heartedly encouraged his friend to do so. They had tracked down the Tagin residence to an address in the Inner Circle , and Lorlen went to see them _alone_, despite Akkarin's vehement protests.

His friend never told him what had happened that day. And by looking at this man before him, Akkarin was starting to understand why.

"It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lord Tagin."

The nobleman nodded in approval, and Akkarin couldn't help but feel he was being weighed up and measured somehow. The Houses of Sarron and Velan had been rivals as long as could remember – the two most powerful Houses under the King; and though there was a temporary truce between them at the moment, the alliance was fragile at occurred to him then that if Lord Tagin _ever_ found out about the aftermath of yesterday's party, it could trigger an inter-house war the likes of which had never been heard of.

Akkarin felt a little queasy.

Lord Tagin spent a few minutes congratulating him on his graduation, asking him about the Guild and his future plans, those piercing eyes never once leaving his face - and the Warrior felt like a bug being tortured under magnifying glass. He learned that Lord Tagin had been the eldest of six children, four of whom had been magicians, but that one magician sibling had died at some point, and Akkarin felt a stagnant dread churn in his stomach. Lorlen's father, also a member of Family Tagin, had, apparently, been an Alchemist.

The nobleman had, surprisingly, been very interested by the news that Akkarin was leaving to research ancient magic – the interest not so much shown in the words the other used, but in the way his face seemed to thaw a little, the way those eyes seemed to glint strangely every now and again...

He told Akkarin that Lady Delvon had mentioned in passing that he planned on visiting the Great Library in Elyne, and that he himself had contacts in the Elyne Court that, in turn, had access to the Library's secret archives – contacts he would be willing to share if the young Warrior so wished, no strings attached.

Lord Tagin's smile was thin and humourless as Akkarin expressed his utmost gratitude and consent for the noble to send a letter to Elyne arranging details for when the ship docked in Capia; and it was somewhere around that point that the Warrior acknowledged that Lord Tagin wasn't all that bad really, once you started talking about something he found interesting. He was _very_ intimidating and _terrifying_ to be in the same room with, but Akkarin felt himself begin to relax more as the conversation continued, and sensed that perhaps Lord Tagin felt more at ease too.

"It is strange that we found you here when we did tonight, Lord Tagin," Lady Delvon said at some point later on, "as Akkarin and I were just talking of a novice from your House who graduated with him yesterday..."

The Warrior felt himself frown at the route the conversation was taking; Lorlen didn't know the House of Sarron, not really – his only link to them had died when he was still an infant; and he'd had _no_ contact with them at all until perhaps just over a year ago. The Warrior didn't even know if Lorlen's father had been on good terms with his family; though Akkarin couldn't imagine they'd have been pleased by his choice of wife... Lorlen said he didn't even know what his father's _name_ was; his mother had refused to tell him...

But it was too late - Lord Tagin's curiosity had already been peaked. "Indeed?"

Akkarin damned his mother for looking so smug and triumphant.

"Yes, I believe the young man's name was _Lorlen_."

The instant the words left his mother's lips, Akkarin _knew_ it had been a bad move.

Lord Tagin flinched_, _one eye twitching in what might have been his attempt to hold back a wince; and it was unnerving to see such an apparently calm person in pain. The Warrior looked back at his mother, to find a satisfied curl to the corner of her lips.

_She'd _planned_ this; she'd _known _that Lorlen was a touchy subject and used it against him – despite everything he'd done to help me on my research. _

In that moment, Akkarin was ashamed to call her his mother.

The distressed noble quickly corrected himself and his gaze swung back to the young magician, silver orbs pinning the Warrior in place as though daring him to move without his say-so. "Is that so...and what did Lord Akkarin think of this 'Lord Lorlen'?"

Their eyes locked and the Akkarin felt like he was suffocating. "H-He is my best friend at the Guild, my Lord. I found him to be intelligent, generous and selfless if a little withdrawn at times. I believe I will greatly miss his conversation on my travels." _Perhaps almost as much as you'll miss his _bed_, _Lord_ Akkarin, _a traitorous voice sneered in the back of his head.

Sarron's Head of House nodded once more, though he looked unusually sad.

"I am pleased to hear it. However, I regret to say that this young man is not a member of my family."

Lady Delvon's smirk all but vanished. Akkarin looked shocked, uncertainty following in its wake.

"...excuse me?"

"There _was_ once a Lord Lorlen in my family, but he...passed away some time ago." Lord Tagin's eyes seemed to soften.

The deceased relative, Akkarin realised, _his_ name had been Lorlen, too.

That explained everything – why his friend's mother hadn't told her son what his father's name had been, why Lord Tagin looked so unhappy at the name 'Lorlen', and how his mother had known that bringing up Akkarin's friend would wound the noble so badly.

But..._not a member of his family?_ Akkarin looked confused. _What...?_

Lady Delvon was tense, an expressionless mask barely covering her bubbling rage, frustration and fear of having her plan suddenly backfire.

"Tell me," the Sarron noble continued "The young man you speak of; is he of, ah, _humble_ origins?"

The Warrior blinked, his eyebrows furrowed at the sudden change of the tone and topic, the light-hearted mood of discussing black magic now all but a distant memory. "Well...yes, he lived with his mother in the countryside-", he answered cautiously.

"And was she a magician?"

"No, but-"

Lord Tagin had the nerve to chuckle good-heartedly and shake his head, almost as though he found the situation amusing, and Akkarin took back what he thought before about the nobleman being an okay kind of person, resentment worming its way back into his thoughts. He shook his head to clear it, irritation at his confusion making his head hurt.

Something was _not_ right here.

He _knew_ his friend Lorlen was a member of this House – Akkarin had gone with him to the main administration office in the Inner Circle when Lorlen had changed his official title back to 'House of Sarron' during their Fourth Year - in fact, it was _Akkarin_ who had encouraged his friend to do it; not only to improve his reputation in the Guild (sad but true) - but because Sarron was Lorlen's house by default - his parents had been married, and so he would've inherited his father's House at birth. Lorlen had only changed it to Rassil out of loyalty his mother and her family, the family that took care of him.

As Head of House Sarron, Lord Tagin, or his Deputy at least, would have been informed of Lorlen's title change. If Lorlen truly didn't belong in that House, _someone_ would have done something about it.

"Then I believe I see what has happened here. Your friend, this 'Lorlen', wanted to be friends with you, Lord Akkarin – a member of a highly distinguished House – and in order to make himself seem on your level of social status, he chose the name of a family and a House, perhaps mentioned in passing by one of his relatives, and took on a persona that was pleasing to both you and himself."

Akkarin had never been so angry in his life.

"Do you mean to imply...that my best friend has been lying to me about who he is for the last _five years_?"

Lord Tagin looked almost sympathetic.

"Lord Akkarin, did Lorlen ever tell you the names of those members of my House to whom he claims relation?"

The Warrior's hands clenched into fists by his sides, head bowed in grudging defeat, the words tasting of acid in his mouth.

"No. He said the relative, his father, died when he was very young. His mother never told him."

There was a short pause in the conversation.

"My dear boy," Lord Tagin began his tone quiet yet not unkind.

It was one of the few times the man had sounded friendly, but Akkarin knew what that tone meant.

Lord Tagin's evaluation of him was complete, the game was officially over – he had been weighed, he had been measured.

And he had been found wanting.

"I know of _every_ individual in every family of my House over the last three generations; it is part of my duty as Head of House. And I can tell you this – there have been _no deaths_ in my family during this young man's lifetime. What he told you was a _lie_."

The finality in Lord Tagin's voice left Akkarin speechless. What could he do – deny it? It made no difference. Lorlen told him he hadn't owned a birth certificate before one was created for him in Imardin so he could enter the Guild; and according to that, his title had been under House Rassil. Technically speaking, it _was_ possible that everything Lorlen had told him about his connections to House Sarron had been false...

"Does it really matter? His name _is_ Lorlen and he _is_ Akkarin's best friend – powerful background or not." a new voice said.

A calloused hand rested on the Warrior's shoulder and the young magician turned to see his father by his side, glaring coldly at the other noble. Akkarin felt his face harden in resolve.

_Father's right. It _is_ possible that Lorlen was lying. But it's not likely. I _know_ Lorlen – this man doesn't. My friend wouldn't do something like that_.

Lord Tagin smiled blandly at Lord Delvon.

"Kerrin."

Lady Delvon bristled at the casual way this man stated her husband's first name. For non-magicians, first names were only ever used by the individual's family or close friends. This man was neither.

"Nekran." Lord Delvon answered calmly, but his grip on his son's shoulder was tight. "I had thought you above slandering members of your own Family for the sake hurting children."

Akkarin scowled at being called a child, but remained silent.

Lord Tagin looked murderous. "That_ imposter _is_ NOT _part of my family!" he seethed and Akkarin had to lock his limbs to keep himself from bolting. His father remained unaffected and sighed impatiently as though dealing with a difficult child.

"Say what you will, Nekran – but please throw your strop elsewhere; it's rude to upset those kind enough to invite you into their home."

The Head of House Sarron regarded the family before him with an unreadable expression. He bowed shortly to them. "As you wish. Goodbye Lady Delvon, Lord Akkarin. I wish you luck on your travels and I apologise for any discomfort I caused you."

He turned and disappeared into the crowd without waiting for a reply, his two companions following close behind. Akkarin let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Lady Delvon looked at her son in genuine concern and opened her mouth to say something when her husband gave their son a gentle shake.

"Are you OK, son?"

The Warrior looked at his father and smiled weakly as he nodded. They both missed the flash of hatred that passed through Lady Delvon's eyes. Lord Delvon sighed deeply and looked at his wife. "Will you be OK here alone for a little while – I believe I owe Akkarin an explanation."

"Yes, of course."

The noble smiled at her in gratitude and kissed her, before leading their son away through the crowd towards one of the lockable side rooms.

They stepped inside and at once Akkarin was struck by how much quieter it was in comparison to the adjoining hall. Lord Delvon closed the door behind them and locked it securely. He pulled out two chairs from the large oval table that dominated the room, gesturing for Akkarin to sit down.

"I think it's time I told you about the relationship between Lorlen, his parents and Lord Nekran. Whether or not you tell Lorlen what I am about to say is entirely your own choice – but perhaps when I am done, you will understand why I never told either of you before..."

* * *

The late summer evening breeze was relatively warm across his face as he walked down the steps towards the awaiting white carriage. His pace was slow and unhurried, a lazy yet satisfied smirk painted on his face. All things considered, that had gone rather well; it had been a surprisingly amusing way of passing the evening.

Aralina was the same as always, vicious, cruel and beautiful, but disappointingly sentimental when it came to her son, not that it seemed her beloved child realised, still too busy worshipping her husband to pay any attention to her.

He chuckled to himself. _Foolish woman._

She was wastedon that family - a family with _no_ link jewellery _at all_ it seemed; not a blue gem in sight.

He'd have thought Kerrin at least would own one, being Deputy Head of House Velan; but maybe the man's older brother was hoarding them all to himself. Perhaps the Head of House Velan hadn't told anyone about them or what they did...

Or maybe there were none left in that House anymore.

_Interesting. _

He'd been so sure Akkarin would get one upon his Graduation from the Guild...His own gem squatted on the silver band around his finger, a sinister light-consuming black in the late evening darkness.

- **_Brother!_**

Lord Nekran raised his eyebrows at the mental communication. He'd told his Deputy never to contact him this way unless the problem was of vital importance. He didn't want people to find out he'd his magic Controlled without going to the Guild...

- **Feyran.**

His little brother seemed anxious and worried about something.

- **What's wrong?**

His brother's tone was accusatory and suspicious as he replied.

- **You never told me you _were _actually goingto the Velan's celebration party_..._**

The older noble deadpanned.

- **Oh dear. It must have slipped my mind. _Heaven forbid_ I fail to inform my younger brother of everything I do in my free time**.

- **I'm ****your _deputy__ – _if I'd have known, I'd have gone with you - if only to keep up appearances.**

- **I assumed you were busy stalking men half your age**.

Nekran could feel his brother bristle in anger across the link.

- **_It's not like that!_**

- **And yet you sound like an unfaithful husband trying to justify himself anyway.**

Nekran was brushed the topic aside, feeling himself getting agitated - they had had this conversation before; and he had nothing left to say on this matter.

- **Feyran, why did you contact me this way? You know how dangerous it is, so I'm guessing it's something important. Get to the point.**

The waves of guilt and desperation reached him before his brother's words did.

- **_He's...he's not here, brother._**

The noble's eyes flashed violently, all the muscles tightening in his face.

- **THAT'S why you risked contacting me? _Go find him yourself_! And _don't _contact me again.**

- **But Nekran-**

- **That _imposter_ has _NOTHING _to do with me_; he's not-_**

- **'Not your family', I know, but he's _mine_. Did you see him there? Did Akkarin say anything about him?**

- **How could I look for a man I've never seen before? This is pointless. I'm heading back to Imardin in the morning; I'll see you at home. **

He closed the mental link on his Deputy before the other had a chance to reply and stepped into the carriage, scowling into the darkness of the adjacent seat as the vehicle pulled away.

_Stupid brat._

Nekran wished the man had never been born.

* * *

The party ended not long after Akkarin and his father re-emerged; the alcohol had almost finished, the food had all been eaten. Everyone was exhausted. Kerrin's eyes met those of his wife as he guided their dazed son back into the mansion hall, and she frowned in concern at her only child, weaving through the crowd towards them. She put a hand on his cheek and turned his face to look at her.

"Are you OK?"

Akkarin looked almost frightened at the sight of his mother being so affectionate and he flinched away from her; he had enough to take in as it was already, he couldn't deal with the problems he had with his mother right now. She blinked, looking as though she had been forcefully struck across the face. Her long nails bit into Akkarin's cheek by accident, drawing blood, and he winced, turning his face away from her as the skin stitched itself back together. Her body tensed as if preparing to scream or hit him before she turned around and stormed off.

"Aralina!"

Lord Delvon took a step after her, but then stopped and turned back to Akkarin, looking conflicted. The Warrior smiled weakly at his father.

"I'll be fine."

The nobleman paused and nodded his thanks before taking off after his wife. Akkarin regarded the empty space his father had occupied with a blank stare. He needed to go sleep. Not caring at all about the guests, the young magician headed for the nearest staircase and headed for his bedroom on the second floor.

The door seemed to open silently against the backdrop of idle chatter coming from the hall below and he allowed himself a minute to bathe in the silence of his room, his back sliding down the wood as he crumpled to the ground, resting his head on his knee.

_What a day. To think, everything that happened since Lorlen's first kiss – it all happened on one day. Today._

Akkarin tried to laugh but the sound came out strangled, hoarse and bitter. _Ah, Lorlen..._

The Warrior shook his head sadly. He'd learnt more about his dear friend today than he had in five years. _More in the last hour than even _he_ probably knows about himself. _

And to think, Akkarin had vowed to make himself forget about him after that morning by – how had he put it – 'cutting out the cravings'?

Some success he was having.

The magician rested his head against the door. Lorlen's parents had quite the back-story. _And their fair amount of wardrobe skeletons. _One is particular sprang to mind and Akkarin twitched. He probably should tell Lorlen _that_ at least...

His gaze dropped back to the floor. But of course, that would mean he'd have to contact his friend in the first place...

_I can't do that._

His answer came automatically, without him even having to think about it; and in his opinion – that spoke volumes. If he contacted Lorlen now, so soon afterwards, his friend would want answers. Answers Akkarin wasn't prepared to give. Answers he didn't even _know himself_. The Warrior groaned as he ran a hand over his face. _Oh this is such a mess!_

He slapped the hand down on his knee and got to his feet. There was no use thinking about this now. He was tired and his head still hurt from everything else that had happened.

He'd...he'd deal with this in the morning.

Akkarin stretched and unbuttoned his formal jacket, pulling off his shirt as he stripped and got into bed, clothes strewn all over the floor. Everything could wait until morning.

The young magician moaned as he relaxed into thick reber wool mattress. He hadn't realised he'd miss his own bed so much. And to think – tomorrow morning he'd leave it, his room , his entire country for a small boat and the promise of a new start, a chance to escape...to be free...

_Freedom. _

He snorted quietly, but smiled nevertheless. It almost sounded too good to be true.


	3. Chapter 3

**P.S: Yo. Sorry it's been a while - EXAMS (DX) and slight case of writers block. I got kinda fed up with trying to write something that didn't want to be written so this chapter's quite a bit shorter than usual...this is I guess part 1 of a 3 part mega chapter, and I'm hoping to get the other bits up soon. Thank you SO MUCH for everyone who's sticking with this and my somewhat...laid-back rate of posting...Cheers to Stuffs, my beta-writer and Sheepy who got me back on track and convinced me not to give up on this :P Also, in terms of the name things - the way I'm putting it is Heads and Deputy Heads of Houses (and their spouses) can go by Lord and Lady 'Family Name' but everyone else has to go by Lord or Lady 'First Name'.**

**R&R if possible. Enjoy!**

**L2**

* * *

_Lorlen,_

_I hope you'll forgive me when I tell you I am not truly sure what to say at this moment. However, as you will no doubt be awake by the time I get to Waterford, I felt it my duty to leave something for you now. _

_I'm sorry for what happened earlier, all of it - it never should have happened, a huge mistake on my part and I hope this will not damage our friendship. Truth be told, I can't say I remember what exactly happened leading up to the moment when I woke up this morning – my memory is mired in fog to say the least, but I recall enough to know that what happened was wrong. _

_I do care for you Lorlen, deeply, as my best friend and the brother I never had – but I must marry Laria. I _will_ marry Laria. And if our friendship ever meant anything to you, you will not stand in my way. Marriage is a frightening prospect, Lorlen, and I need your support to see me through this, not for you to corrupt me further with selfish thoughts and expectations. _

_Don't make me choose between yourself and my family, my dear friend. _

_I am sorry to end this on such a sour tone, I wish it could have ended otherwise; but please, accept my heartfelt hopes and wishes for your future safety and happiness. _

_Take care, and thank you - for everything._

_Akkarin._

* * *

The storm came out of nowhere, a comfortable summer evening gone bipolar.

No-one had seen the clouds lingering off the coast until it was too late; a seaside manor, bright with life and the lights from the hanging chandeliers suddenly small and obsolete, a solitary candle amidst the approaching darkness.

The master and mistress had noticed first, their figures woven into one as they'd embraced on a balcony. She'd clung to him in silence, tears of frustration and anguish dried on her face, anger's departure leaving her drained, exhausted and hollow as she listened to his heart beat, a soft steady pounding beneath her cheek.

She looked across the balcony, at the brooding clouds on the horizon and shivered. Her husband too looked at the clouds and frowned; the guests that had come particularly far would no doubt have to stay the night. But the others would want to get away quickly…

He whispered something to his wife and she agreed straightaway to his mild surprise and concern, meekly slipping out of his arms as she headed back into the building. He looked back at the landscape one last time before stepping back through the thin drapes, calling for silence as he informed his guests about the change of plans.

The rain arrived soon after, hammering at the brickwork and the windows as it demanded entry. Most of the nobles had fled at the news of the changing weather, but a few - more than their host had truthfully wished – opted to stay, servants escorting many to spare bedrooms, whilst others made themselves comfortable in lounging chairs. Very few people spoke, drained but too tired to sleep - talking in quiet worried tones about the severity of the rainfall.

It wasn't until the early hours of the morning when all the lights were finally extinguished. Upstairs, Lord Kerrin, Deputy Head of House Velan, threw an arm around his wife's waist and her held close as she pretended to be asleep, a thoughtful frown on his face.

A floor above them, their son slept on oblivious to the mayhem, sheets twisted and slipping off the bed as he whimpered quietly, hips twitching as the phantom hands and lips caressed and teased him, fingers, teeth and hot breath making him squirm as they ghosted over his skin.

A few miles away, a Healer with long dark hair sat in an old wooden chair in his rented inn-room, playing chess with his carriage driver, a young man called Davin who was getting married in just under a week. Lorlen moved his black piece across the board and smiled as he put the enemy king into check.

Back at the Guild, a teenager lay sprawled across his bed as his mother and father, dressed in green and purple robes respectively murmured quietly to each other in the next room about a strange man who had paid their new neighbor a visit.

There was no-one around to hear the final cry of another coachman, driving through the rain from the Velan's mansion, as the vehicle's metal wheels lost their grip on the saturated ground; the white carriage careering off the edge of a sharp turn and over the edge of a cliff that looked out a small deserted beach by the turbulent sea.

The driver was killed instantly upon impact, the House incal sown onto his coat staring accusatorially up at the sky.

Behind him, the carriage windows had smashed and a pale hand, skin cold and clammy, was the only sign to onlookers that the vehicle's lone occupant had not escaped either.

The gem set into a ring on the passenger's finger grew dull, its colour growing flat as drop after drop bounced off its surface with a soft decisive _plink_.

Back in the inn, Lorlen smirked. _Checkmate_, he thought as he knocked the white king over, a blue gem at the end of his necklace glinting in the candle-light as he leant over to shake his opponent's hand.

* * *

The young Healer leant against the wall closest to the window as he peered down at the road outside from behind the screen. Last night's rainfall had left the streets waterlogged, the paths and roads submerged beneath the murky water. All means of transport in the area had apparently ground to a halt because it was deemed to unsafe to risk travel in. Lorlen considered going by foot; but the thought alone was foolish and even if he tried, the journey would take the best part of a day – and that was without trying to carry his suitcases through the forest as well. There was no point. He would simply have to stay put.

He sighed dramatically, his breath covering the glass in a fine mist that he idly traced in patterns in with his fingertips. _Kyralian weather_, he mused in irritation,_ more temperamental than even the most fickle mistress. _

Lorlen yawned widely and blinked hard in an attempt to clear the mist from his eyes. He hadn't slept very well that night, due in part to the general lack of rest from staying up to play chess against Davin, and partially because he just hadn't been able to sleep; which was why he'd spent the last five hours or so rooting through his suitcase for a good book to read.

The Healer had finished the chosen book a short time ago, drained from the effort of recalling long lost memories and from the grief of recalling his mother's voice in his head, reading the same words to him when he'd been a boy. It was the first time Lorlen had read the book by himself, having not even looked at it since first unpacking at the Guild; hiding it underneath a few obscure items of winter clothing at the bottom of his wardrobe.

He reached for his cup of sumi, sipping the hot bitter liquid carefully so he wouldn't burn his tongue.

It was strange how looking over the story now made him think about it differently and see things in a different light. It wasn't so much to do with the issue of freedom as it was to do with the characters themselves – for example, if the father had known his son was so reckless, why had he not kept a better watch over him? Why had they not waited until night-time to fly instead, when the sun's heat wouldn't have been an issue?

Or perhaps, no matter what time it had been, no matter how close a watch his father had kept on him; the son would _always_ have escaped one way or another. Maybe it was the in the boy's nature to be reckless, selfish and self-centered - he didn't _care_ about what his father or anyone else thought or wanted from him because _his_ freedom, _his_ survival and _his_ happiness was all that mattered in the end, the rest of the world be damned-

The knock on the door made him jump, the porcelain cup slipped from his fingers and hit the floorboards with a high, clear sounding _smash_ that left his ears ringing. Lorlen cursed, the words feeling unfamiliar in his mouth as he scrambled to pick up the broken pieces.

"My Lord?"

"One moment please!"

The Healer brushed all the grass towards his cupped hand, movements quick and jerky in his haste to tidy the mess. He glanced up at the door; watching in case the servant entered. The pain of a stray shard slicing into his hand was almost sweet in its sharpness and he cried out more in surprise than pain. He healed the wound quickly but the blood still remained; the Healer still looking at the red liquid with caution and a little fear when the servant entered.

"My Lord!"

Lorlen grabbed the blue gem at the end of his necklace with his bloodied palm and tucked it back into his shirt. He got to his feet and straightened himself. "Are you alright?"

The Healer smiled briefly and nodded, wiping the smudged blood on his trousers.

"Yes, yes I'm fine! I-I'm sorry about the cup, I'll buy a new one, I promise."

The servant smiled almost fondly at the attractive young man with the long dark hair. She had a son his age and he looked just as adorable whenever she embarrassed him in front of guests.

"Oh don't trouble yourself with that, my Lord!" She knelt down and scraped up the porcelain pile into her hands having put a letter on the table. The shards went into a small pouch wrapped around her waist and she brushed her hands off on her tunic, before handing the letter to Lorlen. "This came for you just now, brought up from the Guild by a passing magician who had to rush off quickly."

Lorlen's breath caught, taking the letter from her cautiously as she bowed and left the room, closing the room behind her. He looked at the handwriting and half recognized it, though he wasn't sure where from…

He put the letter down, regarding it with suspicion and fear. He didn't have a high opinion of personal letters from magician acquaintances right now.

Dark eyes were drawn back to the sheet of parchment left unfolded on a small wooden chair by the fire.

Just one sheet. Apparently Akkarin hadn't had much to say.

The Healer hadn't read it until a little over an hour ago, though it felt like a lifetime had passed. He'd gone through it a grand total of three times but could recite the entire thing by heart if required; the words branded into his mind, still legible even in the years to follow when the heat had dissipated, the pain dulled and blunted with time like an overused sword.

But that was then. At that point in time; Lorlen felt like the world was ending, and perhaps in a sense it was.

The Warrior's words had awoken Lorlen to the fact that Akkarin did not intend their separation to be merely physical. No matter how nicely he'd tried to dress it up, ultimately it all came back to one fact – Akkarin was abandoning him; just like he'd done to everyone else.

It really shouldn't have shocked Lorlen as much as it did - for all his popularity and attraction, Akkarin was unnervingly apathetic when it came to how others regarded him; it was a lesson he'd stood by and watched numerous people fail to grasp; believing that the charming, charismatic young man they saw on the surface was all there was to it.

Was that naivety? That was probably what Akkarin would call it, but Lorlen saw it more as misplaced hope.

Everyone wanted to _believe_ he was genuine, so much they accepted what they saw as fact; until one day his friend would decide that their usefulness to him had expired and drop them like unwanted baggage. Their resultant anger was however, unjustified; and that was why Akkarin had never really cared. It had been _their_ decision to believe him, to depend on him – he had never implied he was a trustworthy, reliable person, he had signed no binding contract saying they would be together always.

But Akkarin was like a light, a star, _the Sun_ – you didn't realize how close you'd strayed until you were already falling…

_It's just…_

Lorlen's eyes welled up, his fists clenching by his sides. He remembered everything that they'd been through. They'd been _so close_; Lorlen had traded away his conscience to remain by his side, telling himself that warning every girl his friend had dated in advance would've make no difference – they'd never have believed him, and why should they. He was just 'jealous of Akkarin's popularity'. Maybe he was.

But he'd forgotten, 'best friend' or not, to Akkarin, he was just like all the others – expendable.

…_I thought I'd be the exception…_

That _was_ naïve.

But perhaps, in a sense, he'd been lucky. There was no doubt that he'd been burnt by this, but he'd also seen it coming. He and Akkarin hadn't been friends from the start; he knew how to cope with life without him.

The Healer walked over to the chair and picked up the letter one last time, realizing that when, or perhaps even 'if' Akkarin ever returned; things would never be the same. And perhaps that was not a bad thing.

He scanned the passage one last time, and tossed it into the fire.

* * *

Two days later, clustered remnants of white painted wood were seen drifting just off Kyralia's south-western coastline. A House incal was found etched into one of the pieces, and the townsfolk sent a letter to the household asking if everyone was alright – someone could have been in that carriage, it was best they informed the family just in case.

Three days after this, they received a reply from a Lord Tagin who thanked them for informing them of the 'lost' carriage, but politely informed them that this loss was of no consequence to either him or his family, and that they should kindly learn to mind their own business.

A week or so after Lord Akkarin's farewell gathering, the same Lord Tagin (the letter was very specific in that it should be delivered to him alone) received an urgent message from Lord Velan, Head of Family Velan and House Delvon, requesting that they meet as soon as possible to discuss a new and deeply unsettling development that had occurred within his own household; news of the _upmost_ importance.

Lord Velan never received a reply.

* * *

Akkarin was bored. Hopelessly, irrefutably bored out of his skull; and it was _not_ a sensation he enjoyed. He huffed in displeasure at the unnecessarily shiny wooden paneling of the ceiling as he lay on the bed in 'his quarters', hands pinned to the pillows by the weight of the head. He'd been at sea with the crew of 'The Eyoma Nushi' (apparently Vin for The 'Laughing Leech') for what felt like the last _seventeen years_ but had in reality been a little over a week, during which time the young Warrior had successfully concluded, multiple times, that land was infinitely preferable to the sea.

Despite his father's worrying before he'd boarded the morning after the party, once the horizon and the ocean had cleared in the aftermath of the storm, he'd suffered from virtually no sea-sickness whatsoever. Well, apart from that one time about an hour into the trip; but according to the captain, an almost overly polite Vindo man called Teno, such a reaction was perfectly normal amongst those not used to sea-travel - especially amongst _Kyralian_ magicians, the youngest member of the crew and Teno's second son, Jano, had claimed.

And though the joke had been at his own expense, the reassurance that hurling all over the deck after a particularly violent wave was normal, was in itself, comforting to his somewhat smarting ego; he didn't want to come across as a welp with zero-stamina in front of strangers.

Akkarin allowed himself a smile. _Strangers._

Indeed the company had been one of the major perks of the entire trip so far.

He wasn't treated like a Lord here, or even necessarily a magician – just as a guest, an old friend, and it was so…_liberating_ not having to live up to the expectations of others. The young Warrior chuckled. He'd say he'd gotten at least somewhat drunk virtually every night he'd spent here, playing Vin drinking games with the crew. He blamed Jano. That man, though still a couple of years younger than him, was a bad influence. They were as bad as each other.

There were fifteen men on board that he'd seen, as this was quite small by his family's boat standards (he hadn't even known his father had _owned_ a boat), and they were all polite and friendly, once their initial wariness of him had worn off. Probably sometime during the course of the first evening.

Akkarin had gotten slivers of intriguing information from Teno when asking him about any old Vin stories involving magic or magicians, partly out of research and partly out of genuine curiosity. Tales surrounding a _mesorima_ – a Reformation of sorts within Imardin itself that happened a few centuries back when it had been destroyed, not by a fire as had been hinted at in his classes; but by the entire city being _levelled_ by a single devastating wave of power with a one source. A man.

Akkarin had tried to find out who this man was, who could have caused such destruction on that scale but Numo, Teno's oldest son, had looked at him a little hopelessly when the Warrior had looked to him for a translation.

_We know not how you say in your language. _

Akkarin hadn't pushed the subject any further as the entire crew looked a little unsettled and afraid, and in rooms that small, silence was an oppressive suffocating force to be avoided as much as possible.

Still, he vowed to do some research into that if he got the time. He hadn't been surprised to learn that the Guild had its fair share of wardrobe skeletons but _this_, he hadn't expected _anything_ like this. The Guild's destruction and rebuilding was something they'd seemed to conveniently skip over in lessons about Guild History, aside from Lord Margen's convoluted explanations on the psychological effects of making the building out of stone and not glass or something else dumb and inconsequential like that…but perhaps there was no use in getting his hopes up. It was most likely just an old story used to inspire fear and respect in non-Kyralians so no-one would be tempted to invade again.

That sounded like the kind of thing magicians would do.

He closed his eyes and listened, extending his senses to cover the entire boat. The people, he feel could them moving, bundles of energy, in most cases blurred and indistinct wandering about the ship – except for one person who shone much brighter than the others.

Numo had magical potential, enough that he would almost have definitely been trained as a magician had he been in a Kyralian family. And Akkarin found himself glad, not only for Numo, but for his brother and father that he had not been trained; as amazing as being a Novice had been, there had never been anything close to freedom on this scale, his rich House classmates would probably look down on him for being the son of a sailor, he'd be at a disadvantage because his knowledge of the Kyralian language wasn't equal to theirs and…he wouldn't have liked there. He'd have hated it.

Akkarin was pulled out of his thoughts by the sounds of a bell ringing and someone shouting something. The sounds of footsteps running up and down the corridor were tremendously loud and the young Warrior sat up a little too quickly, bashing his forehead against the ceiling and cursed.

Emerging from his room a short time later, he made his way onto the deck.

"What is it? What's going on?"

Jano looked up and smiled brightly.

"Arrive Capia soon. Look!" He pointed off into the distance and Akkarin squinted after him. He couldn't see a thing. The sailor laughed loudly behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. "You see soon. Vindo have good eyes." _Apparently so_, Akkarin mused. "Anyway!"

The two of them sat on crates on the deck and talked, the Warrior telling him about the Guild and his family, whilst Jano told him about how he became a sailor until a hand was laid on his shoulder. It was Numo, calling him away somewhere, looking a little nervous. The younger brother smiled at Akkarin "Must go." The magician watched them go for a moment, before going to the railings of the boat and looking off in the direction Jano had pointed in. Pale squares seemed to grow out the sea itself, getting bigger as the boat ventured nearer and Akkarin smiled. _Capia. At last._

* * *

**A/N: Apologies for the random cut-off ending. I kinda lost the will to write after this point :P**


End file.
